Down the Hill, or how much do I love my animals?

Our property gradually slopes from the front to the back. From the street it looks like a two-story house. This is our house from the street.  That second floor add-on is our room.

With the exception of our bedroom, the house is on one level, but you have to go down a flight of stairs to get to the backyard and pool.  Here's from the back deck towards the pool. (don't mind the goats in the way)

Then there's this set of stairs from the backyard to "down the hill."

Sometimes you go DOWN the stairs and sometimes you go UP.  But there are always, always stairs.

You don't always have to use the same steps, because we have others.  We have these -

and these

and these

but no matter how you go, you have to use steps to go "down the hill"

Then once you're down whatever steps you choose, you can start "down the hill."  When you're halfway down (at the barn itself) and look up this is how it looks.  See the windows in the house?  That's our bedroom window.

Here I am standing at the barn. Our property goes all the the way to that rock pile.

oops, that  rock pile...

Now you can see it.  We have just over an acre and a half, which is HUGE by California standards, but's only about 120-130 feet wide.

So what I'm saying is that every day, every single day, more than one time a day, I go "down the hill."  It's three flights of stairs to get to start "down the hill."  I go when it's raining, dark, all of that. 

My Fifteen Minutes of Fame -- the Preparation

I was the original San Diego contact for Robin, (laying the foundation)so she deemed me the “goat expert.” Even though Donna is much more our resident goat guru, I was chosen; perhaps because of my proximity to town or perhaps just by default. The plan was to start filming at the 4Her’s house and interview everyone over there, then come to our house and interview me as the expert, ie breeder/judge.

In my mind, I pictured sort of an upscale tea party where I would be filmed and interviewed while demonstrating what lovely, urban people goat owners can be. You know, hair and makeup done; clean and ironed clothing... not my usual stained tee shirt and torn jeans. Perhaps there would be a long camera-shot of the house as they pulled up, showing how goats really do belong in neighborhoods.

Oh, but what we did to get ready for our fifteen minutes of fame.  I have not touched one plant in our garden in over two years.  Not a weed, not a rose, not anything.   But to get ready for our big TV debut, we cleaned like there was no tomorrow.   We started the weekend before the big day and you can see below that we needed some major help!

We started on the front island where Pedro had built a wall.  Sure minimalism has its place, but it was time.  So after nearly a full year of this --

-- we finally went to Home Depot. 

Ten flats of geraniums and a truckload of bark we had this --

It was an improvement, and Allan, as usual, got a little carried away with the bark --

--but it does look nice and Sam has lots of new play toys to bring in the house. (yet another reason to not go barefoot with a new puppy in the house. those little pieces of bark hurt like hell.)

We even hung this little sign on the front door!

Then we moved to the back of the house....

My Fifteen Minutes of Fame -- Laying the Foundation

USA Today ran an article on "urban goats" a couple of weeks ago.  Some cities -- at least out here on the West Coast -- have allowed zoning for pet goats in their city limits.  Apparently a producer for CBS news saw the article and contacted the NPGA.  To make a long story shorter, I was contacted by a CBS producer who wanted to a news feature on miniature goats as pets and wanted to interview me.  Of course, I said yes!
Robin (the producer) asked me to provide the following for the intereview --

1. Charismatic, photogenic children who wouldn't be shy on camera.
2. friendly, personable goats who presumably also wouldn't be shy on camera
3. the afore-mentioned children and goats living where there are sidewalks, so the charismatic, photogenic children and the friendly, personable goats could be filmed walking down their sidewalk
4. and finally, baby goats...well, infant goats. Not two-month olds, not weanlings, not young goats.  Babies.

Well we live in a pretty damn urban area, but we don't have sidewalks.  And although I do have young goats and goats that are due to kid any day,I have no "infant" goats.  And since this is a "news" piece, there is apparently some sort of truth in reporting, I suppose, so there was to be no transporting "country" goats to the city.  Hmm.
Well, thank God for Donna.  She was able to work her magic and find a 4Her who lived across the street from a housing development with sidewalks! And, Donna had baby goats. Not exactly pygmies, but an Oberhalsi and a Boer-mix.  The cute factor was over the top.
We were scheduled for Wednesday, St Patrick's Day.  Robin was starting with the 4H family, Donna was going to be there to be intereviewed, and then they were coming to my house to interview me.  And let me tell you what went into getting ready!

(to be continued)

Let's wear hats!

While in my search for appropriate pictures of my son for my previous post, I looked through many boxes of old photos.  And I came across some that I felt could only fit in one of two categories.

Category 1.  Did my mother really dress me in that?

Category 2.  My mother made me wear that; and (a) I was too young too know any better or (b) I was old enough to know I had to be polite.

Jessica -- Category 2, item (a), with a bit of I-don't-give-a-crap-I'm-on-a-pony thrown in.

Larry definitely Category 2, section (a)

me, Category 2, section (b) definitely.  Although as I look back, that hat is kind of cute!

Generalissimo turns 30...er, 31? Oh Crap! 33!

Generalissimo just turned 33. Now, I just really don’t know how that could have happened. 1977 was just not that long ago. I’m sure good mothers would have all the baby photos just filed and ready to share on their blog, but all I can find around the house is a picture of a baby whom I can never remember which kid it is --

and this one of Generalissimo sucking his toe. I know he’s dressed in pink,

but I’m pretty sure it’s him.

 I could also find this -- more current --  pic of his Christmas Crack. It’s more current, but as he points out, “It looks like someone killed a squirrel and put it down the back of my pants.”

Good mothers would also probably “remember the day like it was yesterday.” Yeah, well, again either my motherhood badge is in jeopardy or my mind is shot. Maybe a little of both. Plus there are lots of childbirth stories out there and I doubt mine is memorable to anyone but me. It’s certainly a very crucial date to one other person, but I doubt it’s very memorable for him.

So what makes a memory lasting? How does our mind work, or rather how does my mind work? His birth was a huge event in my life -- so why isn’t every moment of the day firmly entrenched in my mind? Of course I remember a lot of the blessed event, but some things stand out with such clarity. For thirty-three years, my mind has held onto little vignettes, little moments in time -- keeping some in Kodak Living Color and letting others fade to a grainy black-and-white.



What interests me is banality of the events that are so firmly anchored in my memory. Things like this:

• Waking at 5 a.m., going to the bathroom, and wondering “Is that a mucous plug?”(Thank you, LaMaze for telling me what a mucous plug is.  Boy, has that come in handy over the years...well, actually only that one time.)
• Eating Mexican food for lunch (at a restaurant on Broadway in El Cajon).
• Deciding that showering and shaving my legs was mandatory before going to the hospital. (can you say "procrastinate"?)
• The doctor calling the house looking for me because he beat me to the hospital. (still procrastinating)
• Being terrified the doctor was going to give me an enema. I guess they did that kind of thing back then. ( reference: I laugh at fart jokes)
• My mother telling me that no matter how bad the pain got, “Ladies don’t make noise.” (Was she serious?)
• Being pissed because Larry’s dad was watching “Happy Days” and “Laverne and Shirley” while I was in labor.
• Puking up that lunch-time enchilada.
• Wondering what it would feel like when the baby came out (it felt like a big whoooosh)
• Wondering if I was going to experience a tremendous rush of maternal devotion the moment I saw the baby (mas o menos)
• Holding him for the first time, not quite sure what to do with him, but knowing he that it was mine, and that I really, really liked him.

And I still do. Happy Birthday, Larry. I love you!

News Flash! Free Puppy Costs Millions!

Okay, I may be exaggerating slightly.  But have you noticed that the free animals always seem to be the most expensive.  Take the Weiner for example:

This free dog has cost thousands of dollars.  Literally.  First week we had him, he was stung by a bee. He vomited, collapsed, and visited the Doggie Emergency Room to the tune of $1,000.  Shortly thereafter, it was a $400-foxtail-up-the-nose episode.  I could go on and on and bore both you and me, but look at this next picture:

Yes, that is Weiner back surgery and I'm not to tell you much each and every staple cost.

I was able to get some enjoyment out of it, of course --

Yeah, I hung a zipper pull off of him.  What can I say? 

Remember: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FREE PUPPY!!!!

EXAMPLE #2

SAM, THE WONDER PUPPY

This morning, I did the morning walk with Trish and Tere (you know, the neighborhood trash picker).  Tere started morning walks -- gosh, probably 5 years ago?  And over that time, various and assorted neighbors and friends have come and gone.  We've had as many as six walkers at a time, but never less than two.  I mean, without at least two of us, what's the point?  We're not exactly honorable in our morning mission; if there's no witness to our health regime, we're not going to do it!

Anyway, I've not been walking with the ladies for a long time; but as I've recently rejoined the living, Sam and I have been trying to get up and walk.  

Here it is, early morning in my neighborhood.  There's Tere and Chance ready for the walk.  Isn't my neighborhood pretty?

And, here's Sam going to meet Chance.

Wait, here comes Trish.  This is California; we like to drive to our place of exercise.  Trish lives down around the corner and SEVERAL houses away.  Tere only lives two houses away, so she didn't have to drive.

Now, here go Sam and I.  This is not easy for either one of us.  It's a lot of jumping for a young puppy and I'm tired of getting bit in the ass, not to mention the drag when he's hanging from my shirt.

The walking is lots of fun.  We not only have a chance to exercise, but to talk and catch up with each other's lives.  We're all great friends, and many, many discussions have been had during these morning walks. I don't get to talk as much because I'm not as fast as the others.  This is my usual view....

I'm just not in as good a shape as the others, plus don't forget I'm dragging a 20lb puppy along.

But it's all worth it -----

isn't it?